What You Don't Know Might Just Kill You
by albydarned
Summary: When the Autobots rescued Bluestreak from the burnt-out remains of Praxus, they simply assumed that he was a neutral. That mistake would come to cost them dearly ... AU, please read the warnings!
1. Preface

Title: What You Don't Know (Might Just Kill You)

Author: albydarned

Fandom: _Transformers G1_

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Character deaths, non-con, torture/mutilation, incest … definitely not for the faint of heart!

Summary: De-annon'ed from the kink meme over on LJ and based on the following prompt:

_Bluestreak is the cute youngling of Megatron and Starscream (yes, yes... he really is heir of the Decepticons). The Autobot prisoners can't believe it when he comes in to interrogate them (cause he's so happy and innocent... at first). If he can't get answers by pretending to be naive and sweet, then he's more than willing to pull out his electric whip and teach them to obey._

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

**Preface**

"_Huh, that's not right …" Obviously, these are not the words one wishes to hear from a medic, so Bluestreak's distressed squeaking was completely justified._

_"What do you mean, not right?" The young gunner asked, looking over to Ironhide, who simply shrugged; how the_ slag _was he supposed to know what Ratchet was talking about? Obviously it couldn't be that troubling, or he'd be barking out orders and throwing wrenches. Youngling probably just had a few wires loose or something …_

_"Stop your fidgeting! I'm doing some delicate work here, and you don't want me to sever some of these wires!" Ratchet warned. "You just have a small dent in one of your memory chips; it's blocking a good third of the receptors in your total banks. Probably leftover damage from a battle … nothing to fix, if you'll just hold on!"_

_Bluestreak relaxed slightly, feeling a slight glimmer of hope and anticipation fill him. _Maybe some memories of my creators, of my sparklinghood, _he wondered, catching Ironhide's optics once more, smiling at his adoptive creator. All of his memories from before the fall of Praxus, where he was fished out half-deactivated by a troop of Autobot scouts, were missing; his frame had been so damaged that none of the medics could even guess as to what type of mech he had been, although given where he was found, it was almost certain he was a Praxian, and that was the frame he was restored in._

_"Just a moment, and … there!" Ratchet remarked triumphantly, watching as long-dim receptor lights brightened as connections which had been dormant for vorns upon vorns reactivated. "How does that feel, Bluestreak? You may experience some disorientation, depending on the size of the files which might have been in that database …"_

_Bluestreak didn't answer for a long time, his vocalizer uncharacteristically silent. His optics powered off as his whole system did a sudden, and wholly-unexpected reboot. Ratchet looked to Ironhide, alarmed; accessing additional memories should not have prompted a reboot. As the old soldier moved to his gunner's side, Ratchet turned around, reaching for a scanner._

_A gray hand caught his wrist, and whirled the medic back around with amazing strength. Furious red optics met Ratchet's for a moment before a curtain of darkness descended over everything._

* * *

**Author's Note:** As of right now, this story has three parts, all of which I will upload tonight. I will continue to work on this story as often as I am able, because (as kind of morbid as this is), I'm enjoying the plot and exploring the twistedness that is evil!Bluestreak! However, I feel the need to warn everyone that, in addition to this story being ridiculously dark and evil, I am also a graduate student, so updates might come faster or slower depending on my schedule.

However, I do have an outline and a tentative plot for where I want this story to go, so at least I'm not floating helplessly here. :)


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1  
**

Jazz startled awake suddenly, his arms and shoulder-plating screaming in discomfort due to the chains that were securing him tightly to the ceiling of what he assumed to be the prisoner's brig on the _Nemesis_. The special-ops mech had been sent out on a top-secret mission to infiltrate the base and to locate and, if possible, to rescue the Autobot Bluestreak, who was believed to be under the control of—and prisoner to—the Decepticons.

More than three orns had passed since the tragic and unexplained deaths of both Ratchet and Ironhide within the heart of the _Ark_; when Red Alert had shown the hidden security footage to Optimus Prime and the other officers, none of them could believe what they had seen. Bluestreak—cute, innocent, bubbly and chatty _Bluestreak_—viciously attacking the medic and the mech who had practically adopted him, tearing out their inner circuitry with his claw-like hands, smiling like a mad-mech the whole time.

Bluestreak had easily escaped from the Ark that night—no one knew to look for him until after the greyed-out shells were discovered some time later—and it was suspected that he had returned to the Decepticons, who were no doubt using some sort of device to control Bluestreak. But why they had chosen Blue, of all their warriors, was a mystery that none of the Autobots, in their horror, could quite figure out; after the destruction of his hometown, of his younglinghood and his very own memories, what more did the damned 'cons want to do to the gunner? Most Autobots were sure that, once recovered and made aware of his actions, Bluestreak would never forgive himself for what happened to Ratchet and Ironhide.

However, it was clear that Jazz had not been as successful in his mission as he had hoped. His last memory was of approaching the first-officer's quarters; usually Starscream was absent, either annoying Megatron on the bridge or licking his wounds (the direct result of annoying Megatron) outside of the base, and the careless seeker was always leaving top-priority messages, plans, and schematics laying around his room for any accomplished ops-mech to get his grabby digits on. A rattling to Jazz's left startled him from his thoughts, the barred door to his cell slowly sliding open in order to allow a small winged figure inside.

Blue optics widened suddenly in surprise. Gray and red plating, the colors so familiar to him, were spread out over a frame that seemed half-Praxian, half-Vosian in its make-up. Sleek gray wings had replaced doorwings, and the mech's chassis was no longer so pronounced, although headlights were still present on the front as opposed to the cockpit dome most fliers sported. Dark lips were curled into a startlingly-wicked smirk, and deep red optics glowed like the fires of the pit. _It can't possibly be_ … "Bluestreak?"

***

Bluestreak's smile widened further, almost reminiscent of the more-innocent grin he was usually flashing at Jazz back at the Autobot's base; Jazz's spark suddenly felt cold within his chassis. Somehow, he got the feeling that things were not as simple as the Autobot's had originally predicted. Whatever was happening with their gunner, it was more than simply mind control.

"Hey, Jazz," Bluestreak happily said, his voice so painstakingly familiar and light that Jazz was almost convinced for half a klik that he was just suffering from some strange optic malfunction. "Funny seeing you here, isn't it? Did you bring Prowl with you, did you?" Bluestreak winked one of his bright red optics, which seemed so startlingly out of place that Jazz could hardly take his own optics off of them. "I know you two never can be apart for too long. You can't lie to me, you never could! Do you remember when you guys just started seeing each other? I was the only one who figured it out, the only one! You guys could never keep things hidden from me, not once."

"That's 'cause we always trusted ya, Blue," Jazz replied, speaking slowly, his CPU running in circles trying to figure out just _what_ was going on. For all he looked different, Bluestreak still sounded and acted just like … like _Bluestreak_. But there was something different, something _off_ about him nonetheless, a mad sparkle in his optics that Jazz didn't like one bit. "Prowler's not here, was just me, but he's worried sick 'bout ya, Blue. Everyone's worried and we just want ya to come home."

Bluestreak laughed suddenly, and Jazz's insides felt stiff and frozen. There was something not _right_ about the youngling's laughter, more of a cackle than from genuine mirth. "Too bad, Jazz, because I was really hoping that Prowl was here. That's okay, though, because once they find out that you've been captured, they'll be sure to send someone else to rescue you, don't you think?" Bluestreak stepped closer, and Jazz had to fight to keep himself still, from flinching away from the young mech he had thought he knew so well. Whoever was sharing his cell with him, it was definitely not _their_ Bluestreak.

"Wouldn't it be funny, Jazz, if they sent another Autobot to rescue you, and we captured him as well? And then they sent another, and then another, until we had every single 'bot here in the brig?" Bluestreak laughed, as though he had told a magnificent joke, but all Jazz could feel was revulsion. What the pits had the 'cons _done_ to Blue? "We'd have to tell the Hook and the others to build more cells, though, because we only have enough for about half of the Autobots. But think about all the _fun_ we could have, Jazz!"

Jazz couldn't hold himself back any longer; the thought of all of the Autobots—of _Prowl_—being strung up just like he was, at the mercy of the Decepticons was too much for him to handle quietly. "What did they do to you, Bluestreak?" he asked, struggling against the chains holding him. "Listen to yourself, sparkling! You're talking about your _friends_, your _leaders_! You're no Decepticon, Bluestreak; you're an Autobot! You're one of us!"

"One of you?" Bluestreak laughed again, that same brutal, chilling sound; Jazz couldn't stop himself from flinching this time. Bluestreak only stepped closer, so that the exhaust from his vents pulsed warm air all over Jazz's tense frame. "Brothers in arms, right, Jazz? We have each other's backs out there, we'd do anything for each other, wouldn't we?"

"S-sure," Jazz replied, not able to prevent his vocalizer from glitching. _Pits_, what was Bluestreak playing at? And why wasn't there someone guarding the young gunner? Even under mind control, Jazz would have guessed that the 'cons would've kept at least one guard on the Autobot at all times, in case he shucked their control.

A warm, teasing claw suddenly traced over Jazz's codpiece, the touch startling the ops mech from his thoughts. Jazz jerked away hard, betrayal in his optics as he met Bluestreak's stare. "What the slag are ya doing, Bluestreak? Why aren't ya helpin' me escape?"

"Because I'm not here to help you escape, Jazz," Bluestreak replied, running his claws over the codpiece once more, not caring the slightest that the prisoner was obviously not interested, that he was fighting his touches as much as he was able to, given the chains. "I'm here because I need you to do something for me." One of the latches of Jazz's codpiece gave under Bluestreak's fingers, and despite himself, Jazz could not hold back a soft moan as sensitive plates were fondled lightly by skilled hands. "I need you to send a request to the _Ark_ for some assistance. I wasn't really kidding when I said that they would send someone here to rescue you; in fact, you're going to ask them to do it."

The other latch fell away, and with it, Jazz's panel slipped off, revealing his interfacing units. Bluestreak's optics lit up, and another twisted smile formed on his lips. "Very nice, Jazz … I used to fantasize about you all of the time, did you know that? No, I bet you didn't, because I was very good about hiding my secrets. But yes, I used to think about you, about you and Prowl … sometimes, when I was with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, I'd pretend that it was you two instead, taking my valve and sucking my spike." Bluestreak let his fingers dance across Jazz's spike housing, stimulating the sensitive receptors there. Against his will, Jazz felt his spike beginning to extend; rape was an uncommon crime among transformers, because there were so many more effective ways of causing pain and irreparable damage. Any touch against the spike housing, or within the valve, produced pleasurable sensations, so even though Jazz was not in the least interested in interfacing with Bluestreak (or _whoever_ the mech standing before him was, because that was not _his Bluestreak! _), he felt his internal components beginning to swell in anticipation.

Dropping suddenly to his knees, Bluestreak let warm breath dance across Jazz's spike, which was almost completely free from the confines of his spike housing, vibrating softly from the energy which was building throughout his circuits. "Send the request, Jazz, and I'll suck your spike better than anyone else ever has."

"No!" Jazz screamed, trying to kick Bluestreak away, but the younger mech would not budge. Two fingers were suddenly forced into his valve, pulling another soft moan from his vocalizer. _No_, he would _not_ give the Decepticons—or Bluestreak—what they wanted. He wouldn't betray his faction like that, no matter what tortures (or pleasures) were inflicted on him. Jazz was no traitor.

A third finger joined the others in Jazz's valve, and Bluestreak pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Jazz's spike. Unwillingly, more and more energy was beginning to build up in Jazz's frame, and regardless of his wishes, he knew that it wouldn't take too much more to set off a small, shameful overload. "I'm only going to ask you one more time, Jazz," Bluestreak said, pausing to let his glossa slip over Jazz's spike, from root to tip. The ops mech was panting, his optics having shut off in order to spare him the sight of the mech on his knees before him. "Please send the transmission? If you're a good bot, Jazz, I can take off the chains and we can move things over to the berth in the corner there … would love to have your spike in me. You'd like that, wouldn't you? I know how you used to look at me, back before I got my real body back; I could do things to you that you've never even _thought_ of before. I can be such a good, good mech to you, Jazz …"

"NO!" Jazz cried out, his entire frame shaking as Bluestreak stimulated each and every sensor node within his now-dripping valve. The next thing Jazz was aware of was Bluestreak's mouth suddenly descending on his spike, taking him in all the way to his fuel intakes, tubing squeezing _perfectly_ around him. It was so good, so _warm_ and _tight_ and Jazz wasn't aware of the fact that he was moaning loudly now, his body reacting instinctively to the influx of pleasure it was receiving, and he was so close to an overload, receptors firing away and all he needed was just a little more –

The terrible screeching sound of metal tearing and ripping was drowned out only by the scream that Jazz suddenly let loose as Bluestreak's sharp dental plates cut through the pliable plating of his spike, separating the rod from his body. All of the pent-up energy which had been about to pour out of Jazz in the form of an overload was suddenly converted into thousands of volts of sheer, unending _pain_ firing throughout his neural network, sparks fizzing and racing throughout his frame as energon began to pour from the wound in his interface unit. Bluestreak, unconcerned about any of this, sat back on his pedes, gently pulling the severed spike from his mouth, making sure no further harm came to the now-grey piece of equipment.

"I told you, Jazz! I could have been good for you, but you weren't good for me, so you had to be punished. I hope you learn, Jazz, because whether you like it or not, they'll send someone for you, you could have made this so much easier … oh well." Bluestreak smiled; Jazz wasn't hearing a word he said, too busy screaming and riding out the pain coursing through his body. Standing slowly, Bluestreak decided that he couldn't do anything fun with the prisoner until Jazz got some repairs; hailing Hook and the other Constructicons, he gave them a brief status on the prisoner and made a request for immediate repairs before making his way out of the brig; he had an appointment with his creators, after all, and he didn't want to keep either of them waiting.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"_I do not see the purpose behind this little _disagreement_, oh_ mighty leader_," Starscream supplied from where he was lounging in the far corner of the room, his posture an absolute contrast to that of the other two occupants in the room, whose forms were tensed and rigid, prepared for a fight. "If he wants to fight, then let him fight! He was bred to be a soldier, after all; it is all he has known. To keep him from that is cruel, even for you."_

_"Cruelty can serve a purpose, Starscream, only you are too slow in the processor to see the point of anything that takes longer than a breem to accomplish!" Megatron responded quickly, all of his attention still focused on the grey-and-red youngling standing in the center of the room, wings perched high in irritation. "And it is not cruelty that fuels my decision. Silverstreak, you are simply too valuable an asset for us to lose so early. Your armor has barely finished forming, and it will be vorns before your core programming is running at maximum efficiency. Think of how many Autobots you will be able to destroy then!"_

_"I don't need to be a full adult to destroy Autobots, Megatron!" Silverstreak yelled, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, trembling in his fury. "A sparkling could take down a fleet of those weak-sparked fools. If you will not permit me to fly, then at least let me do what I was created to do!"_

_"You were created to command the Decepticons in my absence, not to die among them like a common soldier in a nameless battle!" Megatron countered, approaching his creation with fury blazing in his optics. "Continue to question my orders, Silverstreak, and I will see to it that your wings are removed, your optics welded shut, and your chassis stripped of its armor until you learn to hold your glossa!" With that, the Decepticon leader turned and left the chambers, knowing that it would be more useful for him to vent his ire on the Autobots being held prisoner in the brig than on his sole creation._

_Silverstreak, however, was not satisfied with Megatron's decision, whirling around and locking optics with Starscream, who was smirking despite the hatred being focused at him from across the room. "Why didn't you say anything else? Why didn't you tell him that I could stand at your side, fight alongside the other Seekers?"_

_"And miss that stunning display of stubbornness? Or risk having my wings clipped alongside yours, sparklet? I think not," Starscream replied, lounging back further, stretching out to release some of the tension that was building in his frame from being grounded for too long. "Megatron already blames me for your attitude; he believes that you've inherited too many of my personality traits, in addition to your flyer's build. And as for your request, I won't allow you to fight alongside my Seekers until you've become more proficient at flying; any one of those Autobots with wings would paint the sky with your flaming wreckage should you be allowed into actual combat."_

_"Then allow me to train!" Silverstreak screamed. "If Megatron were off-lined today, there is no way that I would be prepared to lead the Decepticons! The Autobots would destroy us in an orn!"_

_"No, because if Megatron were off-lined today, I would assume command of the Decepticons, and with a competent leader, we would surely overcome those fools long before you reached your final upgrades," Starscream coolly responded; nonetheless, Starscream wasn't deaf to his creation's pleas. Even though he would never say anything out loud, he was becoming increasingly concerned what the effects of being permanently grounded would be to his creation. He was already demonstrating unstable behaviors and was prone to fits of rage which, if allowed to spiral out of control, could prove to be just as devastating to Decepticons as well as Autobots._

_Standing, Starscream moved to join his creation, wrapping his arms around the slightly-shorter juvenile, smirking when Silverstreak's anger towards him receded in response to his carrier's proximity, an unconscious reaction which would take vorns to completely dissipate. Trailing a blue hand along trembling grey wings, Starscream whispered, "I will speak to Megatron about allowing you some flight training. He will be in a more receptive mood after he's finished stripping those Autobots in the brig of their paint."_

_Silverstreak simply nodded, relaxing fully into his carrier's hold. However, his mind was still racing, another trait he had inherited from the Seeker; even if he was not given permission to fight, he would still find a way to destroy some Autobots. _

_***_

"You're late."

Bluestreak smirked, not caring about the dangerous undertone that Megatron's voice held as he slipped into the commander's chambers, the Autobot's severed spike still held loosely in his grip, energon dripping from his fingers. Both Megatron and his Second's optics were drawn to the gory item held in Bluestreak's hands, and, with a coy look, the young mech showed his prize to both of his creators.

"You were also instructed _not_ to kill the Autobot infiltrator!" Megatron bellowed, rounding his desk with murder in his optics. For his part, Starscream merely smirked; his creation was imaginative, albeit completely insane. Then again, any _decent_ Decepticon was running a few processors shot of a full motherboard, so that was not too great of a concern.

"Relax, Megatron!" Bluestreak said, placing the spike in his subspace for safe keeping. "Jazz isn't dead, he's just … a little banged up right now. Don't worry, I already told the Constructions about it and they'll have him fixed up and ready for more in no time, besides, we don't really need him, because it won't be too long now before the Autobots send in another mech or two to rescue him, and then we'll be able to play them off of each other and get _exactly_ what we want!"

Megatron stopped, growling as his creation continued to ramble on and on about the Autobots. "When Hook is finished with that waste of parts in the brig, I order you to see him about correcting that glitch in your vocalizer. You never used to talk so much, and your voice becomes more annoying to me with each passing moment."

"It's not a glitch, or at least, it's nothing that any medic can fix. Don't you think the Autobot's didn't try that at least four thousand times?" Bluestreak asked, his hands on his hips as he leveled a glare at his creator.

From behind the pair of them, Starscream let out a low chuckle. "Bluestreak has been grounded and trapped within a body too bulky and sensor-numb for his personal requirements for more vorns than he was with us, Megatron. If a running vocalizer is the extent of his troubles, then we have created a strong, magnificent mechling indeed." Bluestreak turned to smile at his favorite creator; his carrier was always taking his side, even if it was simply because Bluestreak more often than not stood in opposition to Megatron.

"_Your_ vocalizer, Starscream, remains a constant thorn in my side, one which has not been blessedly silent since the fall of Praxus," Megatron growled. "Both of you, leave my chambers at once! If I see either one of you again today, you will severely regret it."

"As you wish, _glorious leader_," Starscream smoothly responded, catching his creation by the wing-tip and pulling him along as he exited the room and onto the bridge of the _Nemesis_. Soundwave, who had undoubtedly eavesdropped on the entire conversation, turned from his station to look at the two Seekers.

"Ravage: returned. Autobots: aware of Autobot designation Jazz's capture and imprisonment. Current plan: to launch a rescue mission, scheduled in three joors." Bluestreak grinned, letting his fingers dip briefly into his carrier's sides, a warm electric current buzzing from his frame and into Starscream's. _Oh_, he _knew_ that they were going to do this! Autobots, he reminded himself, _never_ leave a mech behind.

"Did Ravage find out which 'bots are coming? Is Prowl coming?" Bluestreak excitedly asked, letting out a squeak as one of Starscream's hands caressed one of his wings. Lubricant began building in his valve as his creator began to stimulate each of the sensitive nodes on his wing; three joors, Bluestreak reasoned, was more than enough time for him and his carrier to bring each other to _several_ amazing overloads _and_ to plan for the arrival of the Autobots!

If Soundwave had any reaction to watching creator and creation engaging in acts with one another that was beyond the normal range of creation-bond protocols, he did not show it. Instead he simply said, "Affirmative. Autobots designations Prowl, Sideswipe, and Sunstreaker selected for mission."

"What are you planning, Silverstreak?" Starscream whispered in his audio, purring Bluestreak's given designation so that shivers ran up and down the gunner's backstruts. Oh yes, _several_ overloads would be had, he would make sure of it! "After all, we promised that you could deal with the Autobots as you saw fit, so long as none of them are permanently deactivated."

A slow smile spread on Bluestreak's face plates even as his fingers continued wandering across his creator's chassis, Soundwave completely forgotten as dark fantasies filled his CPU.

* * *

**AN: **And … thus ends what I had posted over on LJ thus far. However, the next several parts are all in various stages of completion, and hopefully having this posted elsewhere will encourage me to continue working on it.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Not surprisingly, given Megatron's fondness for beating his Second in Command within an inch of his life on a far-too regular basis, Starscream had opted to have his personal quarters as far from Megatron's as was physically possible on the _Nemesis_. While this strategy had saved his life on more than one occasion, even the Seeker was forced to curse his own stupidity as he dragged his wanton creation through the halls of the Decepticon ship, wanting nothing more than to throw Bluestreak against a random wall and force his endlessly-running vocalizer to scream nothing but his carrier's designation …

"Mmmm, Starscream …" Bluestreak whispered, pressed so close behind Starscream it was making walking a difficulty. Two of the triple-changers spotted them as they moved past, almost-disgusted expressions marring their ugly faces. Neither flyer cared that their actions were deemed repulsive by mechs who were generally considered sparkless murderers of the worst kind. After all, if what they did felt so delicious, so sinfully exquisite, then there was no force in the universe that would stop them.

"If you're going to cling to my backside so tightly, sparkling, make yourself useful while you do it. Touch my wings," Starscream demanded, shivering as Bluestreak instantly obeyed, gray fingers sweeping along the sensitive plating. At last, the Air Commander's quarters came into view, but before Starscream could enter in the access code, he found himself flung against the door, his wings scraping painfully against the cold metal as Bluestreak wormed his way in between his creator's legs, hands still pawing shamelessly at his wings as he viciously claimed Starscream's mouth.

Starscream smiled wickedly into the kiss, feeling Bluestreak's glossa stab into his mouth, leaving no space untouched. His sparkling didn't know it, but he kissed almost exactly like Megatron; dominating, taking what he wanted regardless of whether or not it was being offered. However, unlike Megatron, Starscream knew that he could instantly turn the tide, could land his aggressive offspring on his back and that the young gunner would _love_ it.

Pulling back, Starscream bit at Bluestreak's lips until energon was dripping down his chin plates; licking at the wounds and tasting the unique sweetness that was purely Bluestreak. "Let me open this door, Bluestreak, or else I won't give you what you want," Starscream said, letting a sky-blue hand drop down to brush against the other mech's scorching hot codpiece. Bluestreak moaned at the brief touch, stepping back in order to allow Starscream to unlock his chambers. The second the door was open, the younger mech swept forward again, tackling Starscream to the floor of his quarters.

"Come on, Starscream, it's not fair that you've got me so heated up!" Bluestreak whined, grinding himself down on the mech under him, letting his panel open so that fluids from his valve began to smear all over Starscream's hips and abdominal plating. "Listening to you counter Megatron, seeing the imprints of your frame all over his quarters from where he's forced you into the bulkhead until the metal curled around you … _ugh_. I'm so jealous that you were able to remain here with him while I-"

"_Quiet_, Bluestreak!" Starscream growled, silencing him with a sharp twist of a grey wing. The Seeker's panel opened, and the gunner heard the sound of its release, even through his own shrieks of pain over his abused wing. "Perhaps you will learn a lesson from this—_Oh!_" Starscream paused mid-admonishment as Bluestreak lowered himself on his carrier's spike, clenching his valve around Starscream just as the older mech had taught him to do so many vorns ago.

Bluestreak's optics nearly fritzed out at the sensation of having Starscream inside of him. Seekers were constructed with additional grooves and ribbed cross-hatching on their spikes, which felt _glorious_ inside of an aching and needy valve. Moving himself up and down in quick, brutal motions, Bluestreak tossed his chassis back, his wings flaring out behind him as the pressure building within his interface circuitry began to overwhelm him.

Starscream watched through half-lidded optics as Bluestreak worked him, appreciative of the show his creation was putting on for him. "You've become more confident, sparkling," Starscream said, moving his hands down to grasp the other mech's hips, helping him along in his movements. "How many … _mmm_, how many Autobots have you shared yourself with? _Whore_."

Instead of being offended by his carrier's callous remark, Bluestreak felt himself charging further as he remembered the various encounters he had with mechs aboard the _Ark_. "The … the twins, I let them take my seal. And, _yes!_ Once, one time I let Cliffjumper suck my spike; he tried to bite it, was so surprised when it made me overload instead! Was surprised too, I didn't know then that I liked the pain so much …"

"What do you mean, they took your seal?" Starscream asked, suddenly filled with jealousy at Bluestreak's words. Flipping both of them over, the Seeker began viciously thrusting into the other mech, moving so fast and so hard that several of Bluestreak's internal chambers and wires were perilously close to being punctured or ruptured. Lubricant dripped from the younger mech's valve and onto the floor, creating a small, iridescent puddle.

"A-after they … they reformatted me! Everything was fresh, was un-unbroken!" Bluestreak cried out, wrapping his legs around Starscream's tightly, encouraging the Seeker to move even faster, _harder_. "Gave them my spark too, but they said that it wasn't untouched … they didn't know it—_I_ didn't know it—but they felt you there. My … my … _Starscream!_"

The strength of Bluestreak's overload was almost enough to trigger Starscream's, but somehow the Seeker managed to hold himself back from the edge, slowing his movements inside the other mech even as his valve twitched and spasmed around his spike. "You are so beautiful in overload, Bluestreak. So beautiful when you scream out my designation …" Dropping his head down to his creation's shoulder cannons, Starscream allowed himself a brief moment of weakness. "I was sure I had lost you, Silverstreak. My only creation, and I thought you had been deactivated."

Bluestreak, still struggling with the aftershocks of the amazing overload he had just experienced, suddenly felt deep aching and regret build within his spark in the soft words spoken by his carrier. Until his memories had been restored, Starscream's creation might as well have been deactivated … Bluestreak was _not_ Silverstreak, and even restored to his proper frame and with his faction once more, the thousands of vorns he had been lost, living among those pathetic Autobots, had not left him unchanged. He could not go back to being Silverstreak, heir to the Decepticon throne … but that did not change the fact that he _was_ a Decepticon, that he was the creation of the army's two strongest warriors, and that he would make the Autobots pay for causing his beloved carrier such torment.

Rolling them over again, Bluestreak moved slowly down Starscream's body, licking and nipping at various weak spots in his armor, causing the other mech to let out sharp cries of pleasures. He could feel Starscream's interfacing equipment sparking with need, but Bluestreak was not going to give the Seeker the release he craved … _yet_. "I never did finish telling you about all the mechs I allowed to touch me when I was with the Autobots," he whispered enticingly, having liked the jealous response his earlier admissions had sparked in the other mech.

Starscream purred as Bluestreak teased him, thankful that his momentary weakness had passed, the feeling eased by his sparkling knowing just _how_ to touch him. Lifting his helm so that he could watch Bluestreak's progress, Starscream softly said, "Tell me about all of them … tell me which ones I will have to dismantle for even _thinking_ themselves worthy of you."

Bluestreak shivered … nothing in the universe was more gorgeous than Starscream tearing mechs apart, sparked by a passionate, destructive rage. His own circuits began heating up again at the mere _idea_ of such devastation. "I don't think we'll have enough time to go over _all_ of them before the Autobots arrive," he said, leveling his mouth near the tip of Starscream's spike, which was leaking transfluid and glistening with Bluestreak's own lubricants. "But I'll tell you about the _best_ ones," Bluestreak promised before pressing a kiss against his creator's interfacing rod, the shrill shriek of Starscream's pleasured cries echoing throughout the Seeker's quarters.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

_Clipping his own wings had not been as easy as, say, slowly carving the spark out of the chassis of an Autobot, but Silverstreak knew it was unavoidable. A winged mech fighting with ground troops would raise instant suspicion, and it wouldn't take long before one of the commanders—and ultimately, his creators—discovered that he was disobeying direct orders. But,_ slaggit_, Silverstreak was _tired_ of watching the Decepticons battle their enemies through the eyes of Soundwave's cassettes' recordings; he wanted to feel the mechblood on his hands for himself, to hear the screams of an Autobot as he took its life in the midst of battle, not within the depths of the Decepticon brig._

Praxus _… a neutral city, but there were reports that Autobots were smuggling recruits and supplies through its ports. Besides, Megatron had taught Silverstreak that neutrals were even weaker and spark-less than the Autobots, who at least stood up and _fought_. _

_The city was unprepared for their assault, and Silverstreak took great enjoyment out of gutting 'bot after 'bot, thankful for his carrier's slight build which allowed him to easily slip into crevices and cracks in order to chase after his prey, to gracefully avoid shell-fire. However, he was so caught-up in his war-lust that he failed to notice that the tower he had raced into was swaying dangerously on its foundations._

***

Bluestreak whistled as he made his way down to the brig, his body still tingling in aftershocks. It would still be another joor before the Autobots departed for their mission, and perhaps another before they reached the _Nemesis_. Traps had been set for them, and Bluestreak was confident in the cassette twins' ability to trick the infamous prank-twins and the clever tactician; knowing that they had relied heavily on the information he had given the Decepticons on each and every Autobot once he had returned to his rightful faction only bolstered that confidence.

"Now, to make our guest aware that he'll soon be sharing his quarters!" Bluestreak happily said to no one as he made his way to Jazz's cell. As his optics locked on the lone prisoner, he noted with some indignation that although the Constructicons had repaired the ops mech, they had not seen fit to replace the chains that had been holding him up. As a result, Jazz had managed to crawl over to the berth, where he was curled up in a corner, wide blue optics locking on Bluestreak's as soon as he came into sight. Bluestreak noticed a slight tremor making its way down Jazz's frame, even though the soldier tried instinctively to hide his response. He could still sense Jazz's spike held within his subspace, but _oh_, he had _plans_ for that divine piece of machinery. Bluestreak chuckled darkly before licking his lips. Jazz trembled again.

"_Why_?" he rasped out, his voice having sustained some damage from the screams of pain. Bluestreak laughed again; the Decepticon "medics" weren't known for their use of anesthetics.

"Why what, Jazz?" Bluestreak asked as he let himself into the cell, smiling wider as Jazz curled up even more into himself. "That's a pretty broad question, don't you think? I think I might have a good idea what you're trying to ask, but then again, I don't want to assume, because after all, that's what you Autobots did with me … you _assumed_ that you could trust me, and then look at what I did!"

"Why are you doin' this?" Jazz grated out, an uncharacteristic look of anger coloring his expression. "Why did you betray us? Why did you give up everythin' you had for the Decepticons?" His voice suddenly went deep, toneless. "After we _saved_ you from Praxus, this is how you're gonna repay us? We oughta've left you there, left you for the smelter …"

Bluestreak mock-winced, taking a seat next to Jazz on the berth; the Constructicons weren't _entirely_ stupid, and the manacles shackling Jazz's wrists to the berth would be more than enough to keep the Autobot from attacking. Besides, Bluestreak wanted to be _close_ … his creator had made him feel _really_ good, and the after-effects had his whole frame over-sensitized. "You shouldn't say things like that Jazz, because it's not very nice of you and what if Perceptor or Wheeljack maybe one day finds out how to send mechs back in time? You wouldn't want to kill an innocent mech, would you? It's not very Autobot-y!"

"If we had, Ratchet and Ironhide would still be alive! You're no innocent mech!" Jazz yelled back, suddenly struggling against his bonds to get at Bluestreak, but—not surprisingly—his attacks fell quite short. Bluestreak laughed and extracted a small sedative from subspace, waiting until the attack died down before quickly injecting it into the Autobot's system. He didn't want to work for this, and Jazz's systems were likely too taxed to handle another physical assault.

With the Autobot weakened, Bluestreak was able to move them both so that Jazz was laying in front of him, his back to Bluestreak's chassis, his audios next to Bluestreak's lips. "And I was, Jazz, that's the thing! I was the best Autobot I could be, right up until Ratchet fixed my memories." Pausing to lick one of Jazz's horns, Bluestreak let a servo drift down the other mech's chest until it brushed up against his codpiece.

Jazz let out a small, whimpering moan, unable to speak due to the sedatives, as Bluestreak flipped open the latches holding the piece down. The place where Jazz's spike used to be was now nothing more than a cauterized wound, sensitive to the touch. Bluestreak let his claws linger there for a moment before dipping down to Jazz's valve, a single finger pressing softly inside.

"You remember Praxus, don't you, Jazz? Primus, that was a mess! You see, as it turns out, I wasn't just some youngling civilian who got caught in the cross-fire; I was a Decepticon soldier. Can you believe that?" Jazz was making a small gurgling noise which sounded like a protest, but Bluestreak could feel his valve responding to his finger nonetheless, producing lubricant and tightening occasionally around him. Slipping another finger in and beginning to thrust lightly, Bluestreak continued his story. "But, you see, the building I had run in collapsed, and I was buried under a lot of debris … you remember this, right? I mean, you and Prowl were the ones who found me! So of course you remember that mountain of rubble I'd been covered in … well, anyways, whoever the medic was at the time managed to patch me back together completely fine, but they missed a damaged chip in my memory motherboard. Without that chip, I couldn't remember _anything_ about my sparklinghood, and so when I was rescued by Autobots, I believed that I _was_ an Autobot! Isn't that funny, Jazz? Me, an Autobot? My creators just about _off-lined_ when I came back, they were so surprised!"

Jazz could barely move his head from where it was pressing against Bluestreak's shoulder cannons, but despite the sedative coursing through his system, he could easily make out the feel of Bluestreak's fingers moving within his valve. There was no lingering pain in his interfacing hardware due to the sadistic removal of his spike—the Constructicons had done an efficient job in repairing the injury. All Cybertronians are created with both a spike and a port for interfacing, but some (typically pleasurebots or bonded couples who had agreed on assigned roles) could opt to have either their spike removed or their port permanently sealed; the loss of one interfacing module increased the sensations experienced by the remaining unit.

As a result, Jazz's valve was now more sensitive than it had ever been before, and Bluestreak's fingers inside of him were practically torture. For a moment, Jazz was thankful that the sedative had robbed him of the ability to speak, because if he had his voice he would have most likely been begging for the Decepticon's spike. As it was, Jazz could not stop himself from moving as much as he could, weakly pressing down on Bluestreak's fingers. Sparks coursed over his frame as energy began to build.

"Wow, Jazz, you really are something else when you start to heat up. No wonder Prowl likes you so much," Bluestreak said, shifting them both so that Jazz was laying on his back beneath him, still working the older mech with his fingers. His spike was aching within his codpiece, however, and with a hiss of depressurized air, Bluestreak automatically retracted his panel, allowing his spike to extend. "How long has it been since you've been with another mech, Jazz? Not since your bonding, probably … hey, I wonder what's going to go through Prowl's processor when he feels you overload for me? They're sending him to rescue you right now, you know …"

Bluestreak wasn't sure if Jazz's optics suddenly widened as a result of that particular tidbit of information, or because he chose that same moment to slide his aching spike into that tempting valve. However, the soft, strangled whimper that fell from Jazz's slack lips was not unheard by the Decepticon, and Bluestreak's smile was wicked as he began to piston his spike in and out of Jazz's _tightwethotamazing_ valve.

"Ooooh, you feel so good, Jazz," Bluestreak moaned, leaning forward to kiss and lick all over Jazz's faceplates. "So tight around my spike, Prowl hasn't been interfacing you properly at all, has he? Probably not in the mood, not after poor Ratchet and Ironhide … but don't worry, Jazz, because I'll take care of you. Take care of you really good, oh _yes_ …"

Jazz sent silent prayers to Primus, begging and asking for a reprieve from this torture … it would be one thing if he could not feel the pleasure of Bluestreak's touches, or if he were so out of it that he couldn't make sense of the vile words coming from the gunner's vocalizer, but both were assaulting him, making his body tremble with desire and need while his processors cringed and fought against the pleasure being forced upon his body. He wanted to believe that Prowl wouldn't allow himself to be caught as easily as he had been, or that Prowl was somehow better than he was, that he would be able to resist Bluestreak, but Jazz knew that his bondmate had always held a small torch for Bluestreak, having been drawn to him because he was the only survivor that they had managed to fish out of Praxus. He would have his guard lowered when Bluestreak came to attack, he would think that the young mech was under the Decepticon's control …

"Mmm, you're thinking about him right now, aren't you, Jazz?" Bluestreak whispered, tracing his fingers around Jazz's frame, ramping up the electricity being generated by their interface. Sparks danced behind his optics, and Bluestreak groaned. "Are you imagining his spike inside of you, instead of mine? Because, I don't really like that you're thinking that way, Jazz … you should know who is giving you your pleasure." A hard twist to a secondary energon line, and Jazz grunted in pain, the sedative starting to finally lose its hold over him.

"Who is going to overload you, Jazz? Whose spike are you clinging to so tightly right now? Come on, I want to hear you _scream_ my designation so loudly that every Decepticon on this ship knows that you're taking it from me … and that you're _loving _it." Bluestreak gasped, knowing that he was getting closer, but not wanting to overload until he got what he wanted … the satisfaction of victory would be more than enough to tip him over the edge. "If you don't, then I'll destroy your bondmate. I'll chain him to the console on the bridge, spread his legs and pry his panel open … and then I'll let every Decepticon on this ship take him. You'll feel it, down here, all alone, every time he overloads … how many times do you think he'll be able to do it? How many times will it take until his spark wears out and extinguishes under the pressure?" To be completely honest, Bluestreak considered just doing that to Prowl anyways … it would be an interesting experiment, to say the least. Starscream would be impressed with his ingenuity … but then again, he was under orders not to kill any of the Autobots. Jazz, however, did not need to know that little detail.

"Bl … Blue …" Jazz tried to force out the other mech's designation, but his lips were not responding to his commands, his lines still too clogged up by that damned sedative. However, images of what Bluestreak promised would happen to Prowl should he fail raced across Jazz's processor—his precious bondmate, screaming in unwanted overload, servicing every single disgusting Decepticon on the _Nemesis …_ would he make it through the entire crew? Who would be the last to experience his lover, the one whose charge would send him back to the well of All Sparks? Circuits tingling, Jazz felt his impending overload build, and the energy flowing throughout his body was _just_ enough to fight off the sedative. "_Bluestreak!_"

Hearing the defeated Autobot overloud screaming his designation was the final push needed to trigger Bluestreak's release. Transfluid shot from his spike deep into Jazz's valve; it would likely be dripping from the Autobot for several breems, constantly reminding him of what he had done, the pleasure he had found with his torturer. Bluestreak wished he could remain with the prisoner, if only to watch his expressions become more depressed and miserable as the memories consumed his processors.

Retracting his spike, Bluestreak stood on shaky legs, his wings stretching out the last tingles of his overload before settling against his back once more. Jazz, valve still open and glistening attractively in the dim light of the cell, watched him with barely-concealed hatred burning behind his visor. The look would have been startling to any Autobot, who could have never imagined their Third in Command looking so deadly.

"Careful, Jazz, that's the sort of glare that'll get you confused with the Decepticons!" Bluestreak said jovially, laughing brightly as the Autobot simply responded with a deep growl. "You sound like Devastator! Mmm, maybe I'll convince Megatron to have you reprogrammed. It's been so long since I've had a pet to watch after … I could keep you in my chambers, let you play with Prowl whenever you've been good. You'd probably like that a lot, wouldn't you? In another life, I think you and the cassette twins would have been the best of friends … oh well." Sighing, Bluestreak made his way to the cell door, reactivating the energy bars as he slipped past them.

A weak sigh from shaky vents caught Bluestreak's attention, and with a curious look on his faceplates, the young mech turned around and stared at Jazz, who had already lost his murderous appearance. _Of course, he looks just as attractive like this, _Bluestreak decided. "Is there something you want, Jazz? I'm very busy today, you know. I have to get ready for your friends' arrival!"

"P-please," Jazz whispered, barely able to speak even as the sedative continued to wear off. "Please don't hurt … Prowl." His optics were begging Bluestreak wordlessly, and for a moment, a flash of emotion, of remorse, flooded Bluestreak's CPU. Vorns upon vorns of memories played across his optics—Jazz singing to him, teaching him how to dance when he had been plagued by nightmares that drove him out of recharge, Prowl massaging his doorwings whenever something aggravated him, Ironhide holding his hand as Ratchet worked tirelessly to save his life after he was damaged in battle. Bluestreak had to physically shake himself to displace the sensation; the Autobots had been _fools_ to simply take him in without knowing where he had come from. They had been practically _begging_ for him to take advantage of their ridiculous hospitality.

Red optics narrowed dangerously at Jazz, Bluestreak's frame losing all of his childlike, dancing insanity as his thoughts focused, sharpening into dark, crystallized intent. Without saying a single word, the Decepticon turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring Jazz's cries and pleas for mercy, for compassion as they echoed uselessly against the metal walls.

* * *

**AN: **I really can't stand how documents uploaded to look … and I also can't stand how damned short these chapters are. Typically, I write very _long_ stories (although, very rarely do I write anything that is multi-chaptered), and I have the feeling that once I stop posting what I've already written for this story, the chapter lengths will increase exponentially.

Also, please, leave a review. I hate begging for feedback, but I'm very new to this fandom, and even just a few words about what you like or didn't like about a chapter goes a long way in making me feel more comfortable about posting and writing for this fandom. It doesn't take any time at all, and authors _do_ appreciate it. /PSA


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